have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?

so you're disappointed
that you're disappointed
and maybe that's to be expected
some folks make beds
out of their catharsis
differently than others
it's this list
of things you lost in the fire
or how jealous you are
of people
who never came back up for air
you're crying
so the faucets leak out of solidarity
& someone asks you
why the floor is wet
so you tell them
"we've been weeping here forever"
then they want to give you
a mouth full of presupposition
by saying
"are you going down with the ship?"
& you look them in the mouth
like Leo is handcuffed to a pipe
five decks down
you look at them
like you just woke up
from that dream everyone has
where all their teeth fall out
maybe it's an intervention
a hearse vs station wagon origin story
a clearance sale
& everything's gotta go
or maybe it's the dream
where you're at the docks
from your childhood
and there's a little girl
unmooring all the ships
because she thinks
they'll float away
but every time
she unties them
they just sink




                                          they just sink

I hurt my hands on purpose, punish myself for the things I can't control like this hole in my brain you're too busy to crawl through
I tell myself that im healing, that three days sober is a start to something better, that maybe I'll wake up for the rest of this lifetime without bruises or "how did I get here" maybe something will stay long enough to understand that I do the things I do because he's doing the things he does an hour away from where the sun stopped rising 12 years ago where the waterfall stood still and I'm left here with all this stillness inside of me, like I feel too much so I have to punish myself with numb and you have to punish yourself with maybe I could have stopped her from breaking her own wrists
maybe nobody gives a **** about maybe
nobody cracks a smile with hope strung through their teeth like Christmas lights or tinsel or something
I tell myself that my dad doesn't have to drink to sparkle anymore and neither do I
neither do I but I do and I end up with are you sincere tattooed on my hand with no idea as to when it happened or when I would ever think that it would be a good idea to look down at all of this breaking and bruise and be reminded of you but I did and I do
so no,
maybe nothing sparkles anymore

I keep telling myself that if I lay here long enough something's gonna swallow me and it's not because my heads been somewhere else lately it's because I sleep on the floor. Even when I don't. I sleep on the floor. The mattress has holes because mattresses get holes sometimes when you don't have blankets to cover them and you're too cold to put the cigarette out on anything other than yourself or what you have to sleep on now. Last year I'd spend every day in bed with a little bag full of drugs and a map to the bathtub just in case I forget what I took two seconds ago because I think it happened yesterday and I take more. And then I'm shaking, not because I'm cold this time. I'm seizing and nobody is home because everybody leaves me for preachers or church or a campfire or someone prettier. This part is foggy. I remember again a bathtub, an empty hotel bathtub and my mother and I say mama did you leave the door open on purpose and she says I went to church. She went to church. She went to church. Bathtub. I sleep there. Even though we are in a hotel I sleep in the bathtub because I like the way my anxiety sounds when it echoes. I like to hear it. Play it back. Memory. Back to the only house I've ever lived in alone.  I'm seizing. I stop. I hear you. I somehow forget that it's 4 in the morning. It's my birthday now, nobody knows but it's my birthday now, teen years behind me but still a teen year drug addiction and you tell me to look out the window so I do. And the sky's on fire. I don't fall asleep again for three days but the sky's on fire. And so am I. And so are you. And I don't want to go back to the place I go to when I see the faces but I put myself here. I push and push and push and then I act surprised when something falls off the edge. I'm alone now. Even when I'm not. I'm alone.

when someone thanks me for writing the things they wish they could say out loud I apologize for hours until they stop wishing and ask me why. I usually tell them the same thing
"do you know when you're driving alone and that one song comes on, you know that one. that one song with a million different memories dripping off the tongue of that one man who sings like he never got on that airplane and so he didn't not make it back to the ground? and you're thinking about crashing and when you're thinking about crashing you almost do crash, because you were distracted about crashing and you get scared and realize that you just want to not want to crash? well that's how I feel all the time. Even when I'm completely still. Or when you're in the bath and you see faces in the ceiling and you wonder if the faces you're seeing are significant? like maybe you're seeing their face because they never meant to hurt you or maybe you took an extra 20 milligrams today and you're just a little out of sorts."
I'm not done explaining why I'm sorry, but this is usually around the time they interrupt, all "no, I apologize" all "I shouldn't have asked"

full circle
I'm laying here with the window open listening to the rain for secrets or something or waiting for you to tell me what you haven't been telling me
like maybe there really is a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair and her eyes are the kind of blue that is never mistaken for grey
she touches your chin before she kisses you, real softly or maybe she traces the spot above your lip where we all know angels rested their fingers before we were sent down here to rot or thrive
maybe you talk about gardens with her, how you'd never ever own an orchid cause that ***** ex of yours demanded one every hospital visit
how flowers aren't for boys but you'll pretend to watch football while you're really watching her bend down to touch the dirt like she used to smooth her baby brothers hair out of his little eyes
before their parents decided that it was more convenient to buy them a little apartment and keep money in the safe while they spent their pensions in Florida watching alligators and Dolphins and toucan ******* Sam but never at the same time
you see, I don't drink earl grey cause it tastes like fruit loops
and I don't eat fruit loops cause it tastes like the childhood I erased from my memory by forcing myself to dissociate
maybe this, is something else altogether
maybe this... is not true, another delusion, maybe your hands are busy counting change out for cardboard signs
maybe your feet move a little bit faster, not because you're in a rush to see someone who isn't me but because you're so scared of ending up back where you started

I am my fathers daughter.
I know this because he tells me every time he's drunk or every time I'm drunk
I think it started when my mother left
skipped town with the preacher
left me shaking in the bathroom holding my knees like a bad taste in my mouth
this is family
this is coming home or the lack of coming back
this is making toast for your mom when she's had too much wine and somehow ends up where it all began, in the apartment that was once hers but has since switched ownership
this house is not a home
without a mother
this house is not a home without the fathers daughter
we become glue for those who cannot become sober
we become wall, ball and chain, we become our fathers at such a young age we forget how to be anything besides drunk

I wish I could leave you a voicemail
But you have me blocked
I wish I could send you a message
But again you have me blocked
I'd send you a letter
I'd send you a ******* carrier pigeon
Just to get a response
I miss your handwriting
Hell, I miss your hands
And the veins you had on your left arm
Seemingly protruding and beautiful
My friends make fun of your looks to make me laugh
... But to be honest, I'm still in love with how place your hands on the counter and lean in a little closer when you're talking
I remember the way your tongue touched the roof of your mouth
And the squareness of your teeth
And the way a lisp came out sometimes, but it was always so faint no one could really hear it, unless they listened close enough
These were the times when you couldn't even hear the leaves rustle.
You have a bad reputation
But hell, I was willing to love you through it
That poor girl
She knows what she's gotten herself into
But she's too in love to dig herself out
Yeah, try killing yourself
Run to him with a blood stained dress
Shout into the void
Scream "help me!! Help me, baby!"
But he'll stand there and laugh
Shoving his hands into his pocket
And then he turns on his heal and walks away as if you didn't just have a heart attack
As if this wasnt his fault
He's like a car crash
He's like being thrown out through a car window and flying until you hit the hard, cold earth
And you were flying
But now you are falling
And you're gonna hit the pavement
Sweetheart he's going to leave you
He's the drunk driver
He's the one who's afraid of being caught by the police
And that's just a metaphor for the girls hes ******
Darling you are more
You are more than a petty side dish
He has a whole feast, sweetheart
You aren't the main entre
Now someone's stabbed you with their fork of truth and it's not him
The truth hurts, doesn't it, baby?

I have been putting all of these tasks off for awhile now
It's definitely been hard to accomplish them
First I started with tossing out the letters you wrote me
They were always so vague, and never full of details.
Those **** letters
I cried for three days when I realized I would never read them again..
I then went for the journal you had wrote me
And I shoved it in a bag
Along with your giant sweaters and the gifts you gave me
Like the stuffed lion
I also gave back the book of poetry I had wrote for you
Because you always said you liked my writing
And keeping it for myself would only bring my grave sadness
I cried every night after giving that back
Because it was a realization that things between us were really over
And you didn't miss me
So now I am still trying to get rid of all the remains you left in my house
I still have the candles
And the dress
And the cards
But I washed out my bed sheets
So I no longer have your scent etched in them
And though they are warm
They lack you
I'm trying to keep myself from caving and talking to you again
Its really difficult, you know..
My god
I miss you so much
You being gone is leaving me empty
You keep saying you want to be friends
But I just can't
I am so in love with you
How can you just pick everything up like that and walk away from it all?
These sheets are too clean
I want to ***** them with my blood
Stain them red
I have been sensing danger in my head
Living without you is a ******* nightmare
And I can't say those haven't stopped either
I miss you I miss you I miss you
You are all I think about at 2 am
And 2 pm
Why won't you come back to me so I can call you mine?
My god
I am so sad and desperate without you
I know
I ****** things up
But baby, you said that's what you liked most about me
These sheets are too clean
Come back
I don't want to beg anymore

I know I've compared your body
To the ocean and tall mountains
So rigid and structured
And I have compared your hands
To many others beings of the earth
But let's talk about your name
It starts with "J"
And no
You are not a Jeff
I clap twice at your name
Two syllables
But not many know your true name
Not many at all
Your name is something  I can not forget
It rolls off my tongue
When I am least expecting it
And I suppose my preconscious
Liked to think of you
I accidentally say your name daily now, I do.
I clap twice
Your name is something whispered in sleep
Your name is something I screamed on the bathroom floor
A blood curdling scream
Your name is trying to leave my mouth
But it fits so comfortable there
Your name does not want to leave
Your name made a home out the gaping hole in my face
Two syllables or one
You could go either way
I find myself slipping
I wonder
Have you called her the wrong name yet?
I always knew you were being serious when you called me by own
And so I am just wondering,
Has my name cursed the tip of your tongue with a bitter taste?
I think you were used to being good at the name game
I mean, look at all of the women standing in your front yard
They never knew which direction the sky was
And I am one of the few that'd been saved
I clap twice
I'm wondering how long it will take.
When will I finally give up trying to make a home out of the bone white afternoon
Your name causes trouble
Leads me to slapped wrists and cuts along the frayed edges of my skirt
Rulers dripping with a red textured tint
And no it was never paint from my art set
Your name is poison
Your name is alcohol
I'm gulping your name down
To keep myself from becoming love sick
It used to taste so sweet
Radiated smiles
But every time I bring up your name
I get sympathetic looks
I receive
"Oh, sweetheart. He's not worth it.."
But you were.
I guess comparing your body to the planets and constellations was never enough
And it had always been your name leaving me..